Adrian was slumped against a wooden pallet, his legs stretched out in front of him.

His dark wool coat was torn at the shoulder, and his left hand was pressed hard against his side.

Dark red blood was leaking through his fingers, staining his white shirt.

His face was pale, his forehead beaded with sweat despite the freezing draft blowing through the room.

“Adrian,” I sobbed, dropping to my knees beside him.

The concrete was freezing, but I didn’t care.

I reached out and touched his face, my fingers tracing his jawline.

He winced, but he managed a small, tired smile.

“You’re hardheaded,” he muttered, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “I told you to stay in the car.”

“You’re bleeding,” I said, my voice shaking as I looked at his hands.

“I’ve had worse,” he said, though his eyes flickered with pain.

He looked down at my stomach, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch it.

I took his hand, ignoring the wet warmth of his blood on my skin, and pressed it against my belly.